


Elevator Nemesis

by rispacooper



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mentioned Kate Argent, Minor Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Misunderstandings, Social Anxiety, Socially Awkward Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1524557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if his voice had trembled again or he’d said something completely out of context, like “Thanks, you too.” He’d done that a month ago and had lashed himself about it for days. He doubted Erica wanted another panicked phone call about what an idiot he’d made of himself in front of the Inescapable again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elevator Nemesis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luminescent_cnidaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminescent_cnidaria/gifts), [coffeebuddha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeebuddha/gifts).



> This was supposed to be a sexy prompt in a meme. luminescent-cnidaria asked for wet Stiles. It's not sexy. I don't know what happened!! Set in a universe Coffee and I dreamed up one day.

“Hold it! Hold the elevator please, for the love of God and all things fried!”

The voice, that voice, should have been enough to convince Derek to let the doors slide closed, but manners and habit had him reaching out before he could stop himself. He shuffled to the side, instantly regretting his decision to let the man he secretly thought of as Nemesis despite how very male he was, into the elevator car with him. 

His Nemesis, his Inescapable, exhaled loudly as he pushed the doors the rest of the way open and Derek tried to focus on that, the volume of him, and not his presence, tall and sure and annoyingly _open_ , or on the shocking amount of space he consumed as he got into the car and smacked the button for Derek’s floor. 

The move sent a fine spray of water in Derek’s direction and his Nemesis belatedly turned to acknowledge the person who had held the elevator for him. 

“Hey, thanks. It’s cats and dogs out there and… oh.” Brown eyes that seemed to shine gold only in the dimmer lighting of the elevator took in Derek, all the way up and all the way down, and then flicked away. “Well, thanks, anyway.” 

Derek clenched his hands at his sides and counted to five. He took a breath. “You’re welcome.” He had to keep his voice flat to keep it from shaking but for a moment he was almost pleased enough to smile. He found it hard enough to get the words out most of the time. Around this man speaking calmly was next to impossible. He didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if his voice had trembled again or he’d said something completely out of context, like “Thanks, you too.” He’d done that a month ago and had lashed himself about it for days. He doubted Erica wanted another panicked phone call about what an idiot he’d made of himself in front of the Inescapable again.

As if he sensed Derek’s thought, his Inescapable gave him another look, his gaze as hot and an unearthly as it always seemed to be when Derek was involved. He was so very pretty, in an entirely masculine way, strong throat, graceful hands, lean, simple lines that must have taken him years to grow into. His hair was brown, bordering on too long, and rarely styled, but it looked soft, windswept, on most days. 

Today it looked wet. Dark and sleek, like a cat caught in the rain, which was nearly the picture the other man presented. He must have been surprised by the downpour; he wasn’t even wearing a coat, just a heavy red sweater that dripped steadily onto the carpet. His jeans were soaked through and sticking to his legs. His cheeks were flushed, either from his dash into the building or from the cold, and his lips were dark and chapped and slightly parted. 

He shivered and Derek blinked. He hadn’t prepared for this. He didn’t leave the apartment on Tuesdays, except for family and emergencies. That was the rule. Tuesdays his Inescapable always seemed to be in the building, doing… whatever it was he did there. It was a coincidence that their schedules didn’t overlap on this one day, a coincidence Derek was grateful for. On Wednesdays Derek went to his gym and walked to the corner to get a cup of coffee and handle the dry cleaning that his assistant Kira didn’t get to. He sometimes checked out the book shop further up Market if he felt brave. On Wednesdays his Nemesis was in the building again. But on Wednesdays Derek was prepared. He kept still in his corner of the elevator. He nodded and said nothing as the other man came close to him and leaned in to push the button for his floor. Derek was expectant, nervous and sick and unsurprised, each and every time, when it never worked no matter how much he tried to keep calm and speak pleasantly. 

Thursdays he spent inside, hating his every awkward breath, listening to the ding of the elevator doors in the quiet of his apartment, sometimes even writing. Then Kira would sweep in and make him do something else. Call his sisters, plot, research. Anything but edit. Editing was never for Thursdays. 

But this was Tuesday. Tuesday, and Derek had gone out, because Erica, his editor, publisher, friend, had insisted they get together because she couldn’t brainstorm new plotlines over email like he could. She’d bought him lunch and a glass of wine and now here he was probably stinking of garlic. The brie seemed to be sticking in his mouth. There was likely red wine on his tongue. 

Derek frowned as his stomach clenched with nerves. 

“Yeah, I’m wet, I know,” his Nemesis remarked with an exaggerated gesture, as if Derek had commented. “I forgot my coat. Normal people do that. We can’t all be perfect all the time.” He waved over Derek as if he couldn’t bear to look at him. 

Derek spent half a second glancing down at the black coat Laura had gotten him for Christmas and the charcoal cashmere scarf he wore to make himself feel good, because it was so soft and warm. His tasteful plaid umbrella—another gift from Laura--was folded up and hanging from his arm. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Derek heard himself protesting and twitched in horror. He could feel his face heating and hoped, prayed, his Nemesis wouldn’t glance at him but of course he did. 

“You didn’t have to. Not with that face.” His Nemesis snorted in scorn but the effect was ruined as he gave another full body shiver. 

The elevator seemed so much slower on Wednesdays. Apparently it was a Tuesday problem too. Derek closed his eyes, tried to focus on small talk, the weather. “They say to always bring a coat in San Francisco.”

“The next time I forget my coat that I normally carry with me, I’ll remember that and think of you.” The man drew out the words, making them seem almost genuine until the end, but then seemed to regret his snark. “Sorry,” he bit out a moment later, licking rain from his mouth, “I’m freezing my balls off and wet jeans are no fun. Lydia had better be home.” 

_Lydia_ , Derek noted the name, how the other man shaped it before swiping rainwater from his lips with his tongue again. Derek could only taste wine, and felt an incredible thirst. He forced his gaze down. “It’s… it’s fine,” he finally answered, after a long enough pause to make him cringe. 

“Yeah, sure,” his nemesis sighed, but shook his head and turned away. A heartbeat later he turned back. “Look, I can’t take this anymore. This thing is wool and it weighs a ton. So just… judge me silently from your side of the elevator, whatever. Do what you have to do. It’s coming off.” And just like that, he yanked his sopping wet sweater up and dragged it over his head. Slowly, so very slowly, as if it did weigh a ton, as if every heavy inch wanted to cling to his long arms and the curve of his back. 

He’d put on a t-shirt underneath it, something thin and white, and the sweater took that too, greedy for it. The sweater tugged the front of the shirt up enough to expose a patch of skin, soft, pale belly skin and a trail of dark hair, all of it wet. So, so wet. 

The cotton was soaked clear through, and Derek followed the rest of the faint line of hair up the man’s chest. Muscle, just enough to be interesting without detracting from the softer planes of him, was somehow not a surprise at all despite Derek’s loud exhale. 

Golden eyes caught his, wide and startled, and Derek bolted the second the elevator doors gave a ding and lurched open. All he could hear was his heart in his ears and the sticky, sloshy sounds of his Nemesis following him and exiting the elevator. 

Of course he’d catch Derek ogling him. Of course he would. He never missed anything. Derek had listened in, unwillingly, eagerly, to too many of his phone conversations to doubt the man’s intelligence. He was quick. He was going to realize Derek was tripping over his tongue just to talk to him and then instead of annoyance with Derek’s general presence, he was going to give him that look. The one Kate had used to give him, the one too mild for scorn, the one too close to barely concealed pity. 

He fumbled for his key while imagining those eyes on him, and kept his back straight as he reached his door. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, that the other man had only just begun to make his way down to the other end of the hall, where the beautiful redhead lived. Lydia, apparently. 

At least Derek had learned a neighbor’s name. His sisters would be pleased. 

“Hey, wait!” The man called out, jarring Derek so much he nearly dropped his keys. He caught them just in time and then slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

The apartment was dark, thankfully, not that anyone was around to see him panting and flushed against the door. He didn’t think he could face Wednesday, this Wednesday or any Wednesday from now on. He’d have to move it to Thursday. Or just never leave the apartment again. That was good too. No racing heart, no stupidly shaking voice that he couldn’t control, no mocking looks from pretty men who laughed on the phone and smiled at strangers and talked at length about movies and marine layers and donuts and novels to anyone and everyone but Derek. 

It wasn’t the man’s fault. He had tried, once. And Derek had stared for too long and flattened his voice to get the words out and used the wrong tone to ask, “Are you talking to me?” Derek hadn’t been doing anything. He’d been standing there. There had been no reason for a stranger with strangely lit eyes and moles along the column of his throat to turn to Derek and speak to him. None that Derek could think of until it was too late and the man acted as if being in the elevator with Derek was an irritation. 

That settled it. Derek would stay here, in the dark, and never go out. There would be no pitying glances or flutters in Derek’s stomach that made him act a fool. And he would never see the man again. 

The knock on the door echoed through Derek’s body.

Kira had a key, no reason to knock. 

Derek turned around and looked through the peephole despite the persistent trembling in his midsection and constant weakness in his legs. 

“Look,” the man offered, as if he wasn’t speaking through a door. “You dropped your scarf. That’s all. I figured, you held the doors for me, I could at least… forget it. I’ll leave it here.” He held up Derek’s scarf—somehow he’d already wrapped it around one hand, looped it between his fingers—and then made a show of putting it down and walking off.

His sigh carried down the hall. 

Derek waited until he could breathe again then opened his door to grab for his scarf, which his Nemesis had thoughtfully draped over the doorknob. He turned, inevitably, to stare after the man and froze to see him slumped in front of door at the opposite end of the hall, the wet sweater at his feet, his arms wrapped around his chest as if he was chilled. After a second he pulled a phone from his pocket and poked forlornly at it, as if it was either too soaked to work or he wasn’t getting a response. 

“Lydia not home?” 

That was Derek’s voice. That was _Derek’s voice_ humming down the hallway with so much nervous energy Derek wanted to brain himself against the doorjamb. The man jerked his head up and Derek nearly dropped his scarf in twitching anxiety. The cashmere was damp from the man’s hands and Derek held onto it harder. The little bit of contact was indirect and pathetic, but something. More than Derek had expected for a Tuesday, even for a Wednesday. 

“You know Lydia?” Down the hall, the man perked up, then frowned. The unhappy expression didn’t last long. “Do you know when she’ll be back? My phone is dead and of course I ran out without my wallet--or my coat, don’t remind me.”

“That isn’t why I…” Derek trailed off and gave a short, miserable wave of his hand. “Small talk. The weather or local sports. I thought… it doesn’t matter.”

“The Giants have won more lately but the A’s are the underdogs?” His Nemesis said it softly, like a question in response to another question. “It’s raining right now?” he added a moment later, then suddenly straightened from the door. “ _Small talk_ ,” he echoed Derek, and grinned so brightly Derek blinked. 

“So she isn’t home yet? Your…” _This_ was why Derek didn’t like to speak. Nothing good ever came out of his mouth when it counted. He wondered if he could strangle himself with his scarf. 

That voice ended the melancholy thought. “I was hoping she’d be home so I could dry off, maybe get a ride.”

Derek’s heart thumped uncomfortably hard. “Tuesdays the whole floor is quiet,” he revealed, and felt even more stupid when the man visibly paused to weigh that information. Derek hurried on. “Is she your… I mean.” Derek gave up and closed his eyes. “Never mind.” _Breathe_ , he thought of Erica’s lessons, _keep your voice low, think about your words before you say them_. He opened his eyes again. “I could… I could get you a towel.” 

“Really?” Somehow in the time Derek’s eyes had been closed, the man had moved closer, leaving his sweater in a puddle outside his fri—his girlfri—outside Lydia’s door. He barely seemed to notice his shivers, or the sweet tremble in his lower lip, or the hard points of his nipples through his wet t-shirt, or the clingy, heavy, denim on his thighs.

Derek clutched at his scarf for dear life and brought his eyes up, hoping he hadn’t been too obvious. 

Inescapably, because Derek had named him right, the man came forward until he was right in front of Derek’s door, right in front of Derek. He was wearing mostly rainwater and still Derek felt exposed in his coat and sweater. The man’s eyes dropped to the umbrella hanging off Derek’s arm, and then to Derek’s hands, tight around the scarf. He raised his eyebrows when he saw the thumbholes in Derek’s sleeves.

“I have towels,” Derek blurted. He was never going to leave the apartment again. He was never going to leave his bedroom. It was under the covers from now on. Erica could wear pajamas to their meetings and nothing would ever be scheduled for a Tuesday. 

“You don’t mind me using them? I might get them dirty.” The warm tone could not be deliberate but Derek heated up in response just the same. 

“I don’t mind.” He sent his gaze out over the hallway, or meant to, but the line of a wet collarbone brought it back. There were more moles, or freckles, visible through the damp cotton. His Nemesis licked his mouth again, although surely the rain had to be gone from his mouth by now, even if his hair continued to send droplets down over his cheeks, into his eyelashes, eyelashes Derek had somehow never noticed until now. He felt caught by them, lush against a flushed, damp cheek until his Nemesis lifted his eyes up. He didn’t need to do that, they were the same height, or close enough. 

Derek wet his lip, hoping it wasn’t purple. “Do you think she’ll be long? Your… Lydia?” 

“She could be all day.” He no longer seemed upset about the prospect despite his discomfort. His clear, visible discomfort. 

“Sorry. Hold on.” Derek ducked back into his apartment, remembering finally to turn on the lights as he darted into his bathroom and practically ran back with a towel. The moment he handed it over it went into the man’s hair, spiking it up appealingly, and then was scrubbed over his face and arms. It did absolutely nothing about the rest of him. “Your shirt’s going to have to come off.” That was Derek's voice again, nowhere near flat or level, shaky enough to make him burn. 

His Nemesis seemed to be burning too. He stared at Derek and shivered while a wicked smile came and went from one side of his mouth. “This isn’t happening.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Derek mumbled, as if that explained anything. “That wasn’t… how I meant that.”

“How would you have meant it on a Wednesday?” His Nemesis tilted his chin up as if challenging but his eyes were wide. 

Derek hesitated. He breathed. He considered his answer and then chose something safer. “I… might have something you could borrow.” 

The lit gaze briefly dropped to Derek’s sleeves again, his thumbs peeking out of the thumbholes outside the cuffs of his coat. “Who knows when Lydia will get home?” the man commented, breathlessly, restless now. “My good friend Lydia. Dear, not exactly sweet, friend Lydia. She might not get home for hours. It’s raining,” he added a moment later, while Derek was mentally stumbling over Lydia’s status in the life of his Inescapable. 

“I know.” Derek gave a little frown, the kind to upset his sisters. The kind to make a stranger in an elevator blush and stop talking. He tried to make his voice not so flat, let it be what it was around his family, or Kira. “You could wait inside, if you want. I have pants.”

He scowled and squeezed his eyes closed. 

His face went hot at the sound of a quiet laugh. “It’s Tuesday and it’s raining and you have pants.” 

Derek took a breath and couldn’t think of anything to say. He was going to ruin everything because he couldn’t do what was expected of him. It was Kate all over again. It was… 

“You know what you look like, right? Just so we’re clear on that before we’re into any pants.” That voice forced him to open his eyes. Derek stared and a fascinating, fascinated man stared back while listing Derek’s attributes and looking him up and down. “Ridiculous hot face. Ridiculous hot body. Perfect suits, perfect coat, perfect scarf.” He paused, his smile returning. “Comfy sweaters.” 

Derek saw no point in pretending. “My sister bought the coat, and the scarf.”

“Dude. I ran out into the rain without a coat or an umbrella or even my wallet and I still don’t look as hot as you.” His body was sleek, damp, and tempting planes of muscle. His eyes were on fire. 

“No, you look--” Derek frowned hard and shook his head and let his voice shake. He couldn’t humiliate himself any worse today. The quiet, even softness of his voice surprised him. “You look… cold. Did you want to come in?” He didn’t mean to make it a question. But coupled with the awkward jerk of his shoulder to open the door wider it was still a clear invitation for his Nemesis to come into his apartment. He made himself step back, hold the door. And just like that his Nem—his _His_ was in his apartment.


End file.
